You Knew The Woman?
by Elfprinzess
Summary: AU ONESHOT-What if John Watson and Irene Addler met as children, became best friends and then lost contact, until that fateful day when John and Sherlock met The Woman. Please read and review, contains slash SH/JW


**Hey there!**

**So this is an AU oneshot thingy of what might've happened if John Watson and Irene Addler met as children, became best friends and then lost contact, until that fateful day when John and Sherlock met The Woman.**

**This was just an idea I got in my head that I wanted to get out and then decided to publish it, to see what you all thought. Hope you enjoy it, and please, review and let me know what you think of it.**

**xxxx**

Growing up John was always told he cared too much. His mates from Bromley walked all over him because he let them. The students at Birmingham thought him to be nosy, always asking what was wrong. The boys at Sheffield ignored him, thinking him weak and girlish. When John turned nine, and his father stopped moving about for work, he went to London until he was eighteen and graduated. Everyone at his school there ignored him or teased him. He tried to play rugby but wasn't allowed. He tried to help others but they yelled at him and ran away.

It was on a particularly bad day, when John walked past the bins at one end of the school, a bruise forming around his eye from an older boy, when he heard sniffling. Being John Watson, the-boy-who-cared-too-much, he stopped and called out, "Hello? Is someone there? Are you hurt?"

"Go away!" A young girl called back.

John climbed over a bag of rubbish to find a young girl with soft, curly, brown hair curled up in a ball between two bins, staring out at John through her tears. "My mama always said if I should ever pass a lady crying, stop and give her my shoulder." John told the girl, as he wedged himself next to her.

"You can't give me your shoulder, you need it." the girl frowned.

"That's what I said. But I can lend it to you." The girl looked at John for a moment before bursting into noisy sobs and flinging herself at him to hug. "I'm John."

"Irene, but only old ladies are called that."

"I'll call you Reny then."

xxxx

It was on that day that a strong friendship was born. In a way only nine years old can, they were best friends over night, unwaveringly loyal by the next day and inseparable by the end of the week. Whenever the others teased John, Reny would help him back up. Whenever the ore girls ignored Reny, John listened to her every word. They grew closer than siblings, because siblings fought and they didn't.

When John turned sixteen and Reny was fifteen, Reny's mum made a joke about them getting married. Up in her room, Reny kissed John but both agreed it was awkward, gross and wrong. When Reny's first boyfriend broke her heart, John went and punched the boy. When John fought with his girlfriend, Reny helped him fix it.

They graduated together. Reny was already planning to go traveling while John had already enrolled in a medical course. The night before he left for uni, they had curled up in bed together and made promises of keeping in tough. John gave Reny a necklace with a gold rose on it. Reny gave John a simple silver chain bracelet, with an engraving saying

'Thanks for the shoulder'.

xxxx

Eight years later, John was sitting in a park, when a young, beautiful woman sat next to him.

"John."

"Reny."

"I missed you." Reny told him, before flinging her arms around him and hugging the man.

"God I missed you too." John grinned, glad their friendship hadn't changed. They had kept in touch over the phone and letters, but had barely seen each other since graduated high school. They separated and settled back on the park bench.

"So, you're Doctor Watson?" Reny asked.

"Graduated a month ago."

"But that's not all?"

"I joined the army. I leave in a week to train before heading off to wherever they put me."

"You always did want to help people while defending them."

"Especially you."

They laughed over fond memories together.

"We won't see each other for a while, will we?"

"No. I'll send letters to you. And you're down as my emergency contact so if something happens, they'll let you know."

"What about Harry? And your parents?"

"Dad got arrested for abuse. Mum killed herself three years ago and Harry is an alcoholic. You're the only one I care about."

"Even after all this time?" Reny asked cautiously.

"Of course. And don't think I haven't heard those rumours about someone calling herself 'The Woman'." John warned.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Just be careful, yeah? Don't piss off the wrong people." John pleaded, worried for his friend.

"Don't die."

"Great advice."

"I mean it." Reny frowned at him.

"I know. If you ever need help, ask me. I'll do what I can." John hugged her again.

"I know. I'll do the same for you should you need it."

xxxx

Years passed. John lost contact with Reny. She stopped replying to his letters. He stopped writing them after a while. John was shot. Spent a month in hospital before being sent home to London. It was there that he met Sherlock Holmes and never forgot about Reny, but knew that unless she contacted him for help, he'd never talk to her again.

xxxx

They stood in Buckingham Palace, Mycroft asking if they knew the woman in the pictures.

"Irene Addler."

"Never heard of her." Was Sherlock's flippant response. John had never been more glad about being ignored in his life then in that moment. Sherlock's interest in the pictures distracted him from any sign John made that showed the doctor knew The Woman.

"Who is she?"

"A dominatrix."

John bit back a giggle. Yep, that was her.

xxxx

Nothing but a flicker of irritation at being interrupted. That's what Irene Addler felt when she saw John Watson. No recognition, no moment of confusion, doubt, interest or even curiosity. Nothing. That had hurt more than the lack of letters when he'd been at war.

xxxx

John sat on his bed. He'd returned the file to Mycroft, told Sherlock she was alive in America and retreated. John studied the bracelet on his wrist. The chain had survived the war and the trip home. Upon arriving in London, he'd taken it to a jeweller's to have it cleaned and repaired. 'No, she's not dead, and she sure as hell isn't living in America.' John thought to himself. He slipped the bracelet off and put it in the small box that held his parent's engagement and wedding rings, a small crystal rock and his dog tags. He pushed the box back under his socks and moved downstairs to make a cup of tea. Irene Addler wasn't dead, but it seemed like Reny was. At least to him.

xxxx

Sherlock's dead.

He's dead.

Oh god.

The bastard killed himself without a thought to how it would hurt everyone else.

Oh god that was mean, I can't think ill of the man when he's dead.

Oh god, Sherlock's dead. Gone. Passed on. Croaked. Sleeping with the fish.

Oh god.

For three weeks John moped about the flat, attended Sherlock's funeral, punched Mycroft when he turned up late, threw out the experiments going off, packed up Sherlock's things, put them into storage along with his stuff and moved out. He lost contact with Lestrade, Mrs Hudson and Molly. Even Mycroft couldn't find him with his network of spies.

xxxx

It took two months. Two long months of searching, listening, lying, threatening, bribing, hiding and running. This was it.

_Ding Dong_.

John wiped his hands on his jeans and rubbed the bracelet for comfort.

She answered the door herself. "Doctor, what can I do for you?"

"Sherlock's dead. Jumped off a building. Moriarty's dead. Shot himself in his mouth through his brain."

"I heard." She said as a flash of pain in her eyes over their deaths was hidden from the world, but not John. John knew her too well to be fooled, even after all this time.

"Then you know Moriarty led everyone to doubt Sherlock and forced him to kill himself." John asked, forcing himself to say it calmly.

"I had heard that. What is it you want from me?" She demanded, still no recognition in her eyes.

"Your help, Reny, please?" John asked his desperation and pain evident on his face as his control and mask slipped.

A look of shock passed over her face. "John, oh god, I didn't recognise you. I figured you'd still be out in Afghanistan saving lives because I hadn't heard anything otherwise." She apologised, opening the door and inviting him in.

"I changed the emergency contact to Harry when you stopped writing back. "John explained.

Irene winced, regret and shame on her face, "John, I'm sorry, I had to stop for a while because the police were after me and when I got the chance, you'd changed posts and they wouldn't tell me where, or forward my letters."

"It hurt, but I am over it now." John shrugged an echo of the old pain overshadowed by his grief for Sherlock.

"You need my help?" She asked, once they had settled on her couch.

"I don't believe Sherlock is dead. No matter what Mycroft or anyone else says. Whether he is or isn't dead, Moriarty's men are still alive and I'm going to track them down."

"You want my help?" Irene asked her face blank but her eyes expressed everything to John.

"Don't try to lie, you want to help me. You never could lie to me." John pointed out.

"Of course I want to help you. I will help you. I'll always help you John." She sighed. "So, do you have a plan, or do I have to do everything?"

xxxx

The first time she used sex to get information she expected John to disapprove, but he only expressed his anticipation of finding their target and his gratitude for her help.

The first time she killed a man for following them, she looked over at John, expecting a lecture, only to find them man killing their other tail.

The first time she stole money, she expected John to radiate disapproval, but he drove the get-away car.

"You're really prepared to do anything for him, aren't you?" Irene asked the man, in their hotel room one night. They were eating dinner over maps, reports and their plans.

"I'm prepared to do everything. The man loved himself too much to willingly kill himself, so he was forced to by a threat. Moriarty died before him, so it wasn't just him. Therefore, it was his men, threatening myself, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade and possibly Mycroft. Whether Sherlock is dead or not, he can't possibly come back until he thinks it is safe for everyone else. That means Moriarty's men and organisation must be taken care of." John explained.

"You love him." Irene commented.

"So do you."

"I was attracted to him, and enjoyed his mind. You love him."

"He loved you."

"No, I interested him. Presented him a challenge and when he couldn't do it, it attracted him to me. If it came down to you or me, he'd pick you without hesitation." Irene shrugged. "What's done is done. I know he would've cared for you back."

"He is married to his work and considers himself asexual. You were 'an affair'. His words, not mine." John muttered.

"After all this is over, I'm sure you'll find him again. Tell him you love him when you do."

"And send him running from me? No thanks."

xxxx

It was their last target. The man had been dead for five minutes when John received a text from Mycroft.

**Come to22B Baker street.**

John showed Irene the text.

"What do you want to do?" she asked him.

"I don't know." John rubbed his face tiredly.

"Do you want to go and see if Sherlock is back?"

John didn't say anything, just looked at her. His face was filled with fear, indecision and anxiety.

"We can be there in three days." She decided for him.

Within an hour, the pair were showered, changed and in a taxi to the local airport.

**I'll be there in three days.**

He waited a moment before his phone dinged.

**Where are you that require three days of travel?**

John smirked at the phone and typed his reply as Irene read over his shoulder and laughed.

**221B Baker street.**

xxxx

Three days later, with Irene linking her fingers through his, they walked up to 221B Baker street. The door was open, and they walked up the stairs to the flat. In the living room of the bare flat sat Mycroft, Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Molly and Sherlock. John stared at everyone silently, studying them. Sherlock stayed standing at the window, staring back at John and Irene in surprise.

John turned to Irene and said, "You owe me fifty pounds."

"I was hoping you wouldn't remember." she laughed and handed over a rumpled up bill from her pocket.

All of them stared at shock at John with his hand linked through Irene's. Especially Mycroft and Sherlock. "I've not lost it and started to see things, have I? John asked Irene.

"No, Sherlock is really there." Irene smiled at the man who stared back in confusion between the pair.

"Good, cause now I can do this." John said, striding across the room to punch Sherlock solidly across his cheek.

Sherlock let out a yelp of pain before saying, "What was that for?"

"Bloody faking your death! Next time tell me what you're planning!" John growled.

"Moriarty's men were going to kill you. I had to appear to die so I could take his organisation down." Sherlock explained quickly.

"You didn't do a very good job at that. John and I did most of the work." Irene pointed out, leaning against the door frame.

"I am rather curious as to how Ms Addler is alive and why she helped you disable Moriarty's resources." Mycroft pointed out, demanding an explanation.

"I would've thought your spies would've mentioned her helping me?" John asked, stalking angrily away from Sherlock and to stand near the window.

"My men didn't have much information. We found where you'd been and were able to trace you that way." Mycroft sighed.

"John came to me for help, deciding if Sherlock faked his death, he would've done so under threat. He couldn't return until the threat was taken care off so we tracked down Jim's men and dealt with them accordingly." Irene explained, drawing attention to herself.

"Why would you have agreed to help John and then not use him for personal gain or anything?" Sherlock asked out loud.

John and Irene shared a look.

"Deduce." John shrugged, enjoying the annoyance that appeared on Sherlock's face.

"You're friends now. You trust and respect one another, but you know after all this you won't be anymore. You're protective of each other; she's ready to jump to your defence when you look like you're struggling to cope with the situation and when Mycroft eyes her off you shuffled in front of her." Sherlock deduced. "I don't know why she helped you though."

"Because he lent me his shoulder when we were nine. Because he beat up my first boyfriend and he yelled at the other girls for laughing at me. He celebrated my graduation and held me when my mother died. He forgave me for losing touch and then not recognising him." Irene explained.

John stayed silent as both Mycroft and Sherlock gave him a look that said you-know-The-Woman-and-didn't-say-anything-are-you-stupid-or-what?

"We were close growing up until I joined the army. We lost touch and she didn't seem to recognise me." John defended himself.

"John, heartfelt reunion aside, if you don't need me, I need to go. Charles responded and has requested my immediate presence." Irene smirked at John as the military doctor moved to hug her goodbye.

"Thanks Reny." John whispered to her.

"If he gives you a hard time, text me. If you need help, call. Email me when you tell him and what his response is." She whispered back.

John kissed her cheek and she smiled in response.

"So glad you aren't dead, junior, even if it cost me fifty pounds." She winked at Sherlock before turning to Mycroft. "I wouldn't worry your pretty little head about my survival too much, after all, only one person could fool you." Mycroft sent a glare at his brother as Irene laughed. "Don't worry Mr Holmes. We all have our weaknesses; a parent, a lover, an addiction, a brother." Irene glanced at John before shrugging, "That won't ever change." She then turned and walked out and downstairs.

"John, where have you been? You just dropped off the radar and everything." Lestrade grinned, trying to diffuse the tension in the room.

"I was around. Travelled the world and saw all the sights." John shrugged.

"You are taking this remarkably calmly." Mycroft commented.

John glanced at Sherlock and then away. "I spent the past two years knowing Sherlock wasn't dead, as well as knowing I was crazy." he explained.

"How'd you know I wasn't dead?" Sherlock asked, confused and impressed.

"To begin with I wasn't sure. I hoped you weren't but I didn't know. The more I thought about it the more it seemed reasonable. You love yourself too much to kill yourself willingly so you were forced. Moriarty died before you, so it was a threat that wasn't from him directly, but he would've set it up, so the threat came from his men. You wouldn't have jumped if the threat was to you, you would've gotten out of it or let them kill you, so the threat was to others you cared about. This meant they had to be taken care of so you could come back."

"This is why you went to Ms Addler for help." Mycroft added.

"But none of that is conclusive." Sherlock complained.

"No but you would've staged your death, just so you could brag afterwards about managing to survive a fall from Barts and getting everyone to believe you were dead." John spoke, his voice growing slightly louder.

"You're angry." Sherlock realised.

"Of course I'm blood angry!" John exploded, rounding on Sherlock with fists clenched. He sucked in a sharp breath and turned away. He continued with a softer voice. "Of course I'm bloody angry; you didn't even stop to think about letting me know your plan! You just thought you'll leave it to me to convince everyone else you were dead by believing it myself without second thought to just how much bloody pain it'd put me through!"

"Mycroft, Lestrade, Molly and Mrs. Hudson, if you would be so kind as to leave John and I in private? We have some things to discuss." Sherlock asked the others, who quite happily left, not wanting to get in the middle of their shouting match.

Once they had all left, and shut the door behind them, John stayed facing the window, away from Sherlock.

"John." Sherlock whispered, "I'm sorry."

John let out a bark of harsh laughter. "You're not sorry. You're just itching to brag."

Sherlock placed a hand on John's shoulder. "I'm not. He was going to have you shot John. There was a sniper. I could see him." John stayed silent. "I was there the last time you visited my grave. I could hear the pain in your voice and the only reason I didn't step out to you was because I preferred to miss you and have you safe then to be with you and have you in danger. I don't have friends, John. I have a brother who has to put up with me, I have Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade and Molly who tolerate me and sometimes enjoy my presence, and I have you." Sherlock told him.

John turned to look at Sherlock before slowly hugging the man. John swallowed back tears as he embraced the skinny frame.

"God I missed you." John whispered. "Everything was so boring.

Sherlock let out a chuckle as John giggled.

"Didn't sound like it, you and Ms Addler were rather busy."

John shrugged, before pulling away. "You weren't going to come back with all of us still threatened and I knew you'd take forever to get it all done so I helped out. Let me order some Chinese then you can brag about how you came back from the dead."

Sherlock studied John as he pulled his phone out and ordered food for the both of them. The man toed off his shoes as he spoke to the shop and shrugged his jacket off. After hanging up, he slipped his jumper off and over his head. His sleeves got caught in the material and slid downwards. Sherlock gripped his wrist, pausing John with his jumper half off.

"These are new." Sherlock commented, gently tracing the scars across his wrists.

John winced and tugged his hand out of his grasp. "It doesn't matter. You don't need to worry, Reny screamed and ranted at me and I'm not going to do it again." John muttered as he tugged his jumper completely off and pushed his sleeves back down.

"Don't need to worry? The whole reason I faked my death was so you weren't hurt!" Sherlock frowned.

"And you didn't think you dying wouldn't have hurt me?" John pointed out.

Sherlock moved into the kitchen and poured him a cup of tea. He shoved it into John's hands and led him to the couch, forcing him to sit. "I am sorry for making you hurt, but I am not sorry I staged my death. If Mrs Hudson was killed, or Lestrade, or Molly I would be able to handle it. I'd be affected, as you so often pointed out I do have some emotions, but I'd be able to cope. If you were killed," Sherlock didn't finish his sentence for a moment, but continued moments later as if he never stopped, "You said I loved myself too much to kill myself. If you were killed, everything would be too boring and pointless and I'd follow you."

John stared at Sherlock in shock.

A doorbell interrupted them.

John went to get dinner and when he came back, they ate before settling on the couch, listening to each other. Sherlock explained how he faked his death and how he'd been tracking down Moriarty's organization. John explained how he tracked down Irene Addler and how they took care off Moriarty's men so Sherlock could return.

xxxx

It was a month later, and John had gone out to buy some milk and food.

"Hello Sherlock, dear."

"Irene Addler." Sherlock didn't move from in front of the window, his violin resting on the sill in front of him.

"I suppose now is when I ask you to dinner, but I already know your answer."

"I'm not hungry."

"Is that because John's coming back with food?"

"What?" Confusion flickered across the man's face.

"Look Sherlock, I'm here because I know John will never work up the courage to tell you. He loves you. In every sense of the word. I walked in on him cutting his wrists. I will never forget that." Irene moved to stand next to him so he could watch her face and know she wasn't lying. "Growing up his father was abusive, his mother non-existent and his sister either bullied him or ignored him. Everyone at school ignored him, teased him, used him or hated him. He never broke down once, not when he was nine and they wouldn't let him join the rugby team. Not when he was twelve and a girl broke up with him because of rumours others spread. Not when he was fifteen and the rugby team cornered him, stripped him and nearly raped him. He never cried, never broke down, never. He just shrugged it all off, and helped me with my issues. He told me he knew you weren't dead. That was a lie. He believed you were dead, despite what he said. He was going to take down Moriarty's men as revenge and then kill himself. The cutting was a way to take his mind off his pain over you dying. I convinced him to believe you were faking and actually still alive."

Sherlock's eyes flickered from studying her face to outside the window to where John was walking down the street with two bags.

"I'm not asking you to tell him you love him too, unless of course, you do. Just be aware of it, and think about your feelings for him. And look after him." Irene told him, moving to leave out a back window somewhere. She handed a card to Sherlock. "Look after him, even if it is to text me saying he needs me because you don't know what to do."

"You told Mycroft everyone has a weakness." Sherlock pointed out, causing her to pause.

"Indeed, and John is mine. He is my brother. He is also your weakness, but is he your brother too? Or is he something more?" And with that, she left, climbing out a window and onto the fire escape.

Sherlock began to play his violin, just as John walked in.

"Hey Sherlock, I was thinking we could head down to Angelo's for dinner?" John greeted the man.

Sherlock paused in his playing, "Let' have dinner" Sherlock muttered, thinking out loud and repeating Irene's words.

"What was that?"

"Let's go."

xxxx

A week passed and a particularly difficult case had run Sherlock ragged. John had returned to the clinic to work two weeks ago, and had stayed up late taking care of Sherlock, making sure he ate, showered and slept before sleeping himself. The result was one tired John going to work at nine and one refreshed Sherlock waking up at two, an hour before John would return home.

When John did return to the flat, it was to find Sherlock sitting on the couch, lost in thought.  
"Feeling better?" John asked, after changing in his bedroom into jeans and a jumper.

"Irene Addler visited me a week ago." Sherlock told him.

"And?"

"She had something to share with me that has been on my mind ever since."

"Are you going to share it with me?"

"You already know."

John froze but forced himself to relax, to hide his anxiety, "Really?"

"You love me."

Silence.

John tilted his head to the side, "And?" he finally asked. "I mean, I'd rather she hadn't told you but does it actually change anything between us?"

"Why don't you want me to know? Don't people normally confess their romantic feelings to see if they are mutual?"

"Sherlock, I love you, yeah, whatever. I don't want you to feel like you have to respond or anything and I don't want us to be uncomfortable around each other. I'm sexually attracted to you, but you don't do sex, so ok, who cares? You don't like to admit you have feelings, so ok, don't. I love you for you. I don't want you to start being lovey-dovey and human and boring. I love you for being wonderfully smart, painfully oblivious, snarky, rude and beautiful. I love you for making things less boring, for fixing me, for playing your violin after I have a nightmare, and yes, I noticed, I love you for all your experiments and how you don't give a damn about what everyone else thinks and says. Yeah, I get annoyed when you leave body parts next to food, when you torture your violin at three in the morning, when you do crazy things because you're bored and when you rudely reveal your deductions to people we care about. But it makes you be Sherlock, and I don't want you to change." John explained, staring stubbornly at his hands, nerves written across his face for Sherlock to see.

"What if I want to change?"

"What?"

"What if I am attracted to you, and do have feelings and want to change in whatever ways I have to for you?" Sherlock asked.

John looked up at him, "Please don't be doing this because you think you should be, or as an experiment."

"I may not have experienced relationships, love and sex before, but that is because I hadn't met anyone I wanted to experience them with. If I truly didn't want to do something, would I say I did?"

"I don't know, you're Sherlock, I don't know what goes on in your head, and no one does."

"Yes you do. You know when I am bored, hungry, tried, interested, and happy with a glance. You know what I want and need even when I don't." Sherlock corrected. "You know what I mean when I don't talk, yell and rant or when I am cheerful even though no one else ever does."

John stared at Sherlock in shock.

"I don't know what is the correct thing to do, nor what love feels like, but I want to try with you John."

John stared at him, his mouth hanging open. "Seriously?"

"Would I be joking in a time like this?"

John's response was to move to sit on the couch next to Sherlock. "Sherlock?"

"Yes John?"

"I'm going to kiss you know." And with that, John did. Their first kiss was clumsy, awkward and resulting in John breaking away first, laughing softly. Sherlock pouted, but was reassured when John kissed him again, this time directing the detective on what to do.

xxxx

Their relationship didn't outwardly change for a few weeks. Outside the flat everything was the same. During a case, John was lucky to get a kiss, let alone anything else, but he understood Sherlock and just accepted it with the cold showers that followed.

It was at a crime scene, when Sherlock was examining the body, and everyone was shocked to hear a gunshot and to see John drop to the floor, as the murderer (who'd been stuck in the room with the police, hiding) started running away.

Everyone expected the Consulting Detective to run after the shooter, but he didn't. Lestrade and his men quickly caught the guy (wasn't very smart, shooting someone surrounded by police) and when Lestrade returned to the crime scene to check on John, he found the pair locked in an embrace on the floor, John being held to Sherlock's chest as he cradled his left arm, patiently returning the hug. Lestrade coughed gently and Sherlock looked up. He calmly stood and reached down to help John up.

"I am assuming you were able to catch the bastard who did all this, in which case, you no longer need us. Goodnight Detective Lestrade." Sherlock announced, before walking out with John, an arm around the doctor's shoulders, holding him close to the taller man's side.

"John needs to go to a hospital! He was shot!" Lestrade called after them.

"Just a graze, I have a first aid kit at home, I'll be fine. "John called back.

xxxx

Lestrade visited 221B Baker street the next day to check up on the doctor. Mrs Hudson answered the door in an apron and covered in flour.

"The silly man shot the bell, claimed to always be busy and can't be interrupted." The woman explained, letting the detective in.

"That's OK, Mrs Hudson; I can go up by myself if you want to return to your baking." Lestrade offered.

The woman smiled and walked back to her kitchen. "Thank you, just go on up, give a shout if you want some tea and cookies, just this once, mind you, I'm not a housekeeper."

"Of course, thank you." Lestrade walked up and knocked on the door. "John? Sherlock?" Lestrade called out, opening the unlocked door.

"In the kitchen." John called out.

Lestrade walked in to find Sherlock sitting in front of John, as he carefully unwrapped the bandage on his arm.

"Hey Greg." John grinned.

"Hey, just checking up on you, you were shot after all." Greg tried not to stare in shock at Sherlock being gentle and helping John out.

"I cleaned it last night, it doesn't need stitches, John said so, and now I am changing the bandage to check on it and put a clean one on. Why does no-one believe I can look after you?" Sherlock asked, directing his question to John.

"I don't know Sherlock, maybe because I normally look after you?"

"Hmph."

"Well, if you're fine, I have to get going, just swung by on my way past." Lestrade interrupted the pair before it could turn into a fight.

"Thanks for that, I'm fine, as you can see."

"See you round, you too Sherlock."

Lestrade walked out. As the door shut behind him, he heard Sherlock say, "You don't always look after me."

John's patient reply was loud enough for Lestrade to hear, "Yes I do, because you want me to."

xxxx

A month later, John was threatened at a crime scene, Sherlock stopped the guy and Lestrade arrested him. Once he was in a police car, and driven off to Scotland Yard, Lestrade turned to John to check on him, only to find the pair locked in an embrace, again. This time, John was stroking Sherlock's back softly, obviously comforting the man.

Lestrade heard John whisper to Sherlock, "I'm fine, relax, come, up we get, let's go home, yeah?"

Lestrade glanced behind him where Anderson and Sally were approaching, to start collecting evidence and he coughed.

Sherlock didn't look up, but John did.

"I don't know if you guys care, but Anderson and Donovan are coming over," Lestrade explained.

John gently disentangled himself from Sherlock but stayed standing close to the consulting detective while they gave their statements to Lestrade, and ignored the jibes from Anderson and Sally.

xxxx

Lestrade ignored the rumours and bets on John and Sherlock's relationship. He ignored the talk, the gossip, the jibes, the remarks, everything. He kept an eye on what was said, put his foot down on some of the insulting bets, warning the officer who emailed everyone the odds and bets that he would ignore the running bets, but some things were unacceptable.  
Lestrade had seen the emotion between the pair, and thought that perhaps there might be something there, but every time someone assumed they were a couple, John would insist so otherwise. If they were together, they had their reasons for not sharing, and it was none of his business.

He walked into work one morning, and was warned at the front door that Sherlock and John were upstairs and waiting at his office.

He entered the room to find Sherlock sitting at his desk, and John sitting opposite, the pair playing a game of hangman in John's notebook. Well, playing is a loose term, John would write a word, and Sherlock would guess it before he had even finished. John would then try and guess Sherlock's, but would give up every time. This went on for a little bit, neither men noticing Lestrade watching them.

"Lestrade, would you like your desk back yet so we can get down to business?" Sherlock asked.

OK, so he noticed.

"You kidding, he was enjoying watching me get thrashed at a game." John muttered darkly. Sherlock grinned smugly and moved out of Lestrade's chair.

"We're here to make a proposition." Sherlock started, once Lestrade had sat down.

"Yes?"

"We're aware there is running speculation on our relationship and bets on when the sexual tension would become too much and one of us would snap and fu-"

"He doesn't need details, Sherlock." John interrupted the man.

"Right. Bet on as many as you can without being suspicious, we'll tell you the correct gamble and then we split the profit." Sherlock offered.

"Why?" Lestrade asked. "You don't need money, why do this?"

"Why do you think, criminals have gotten so boring! I need to do something or my head will explode." Sherlock groaned.

John elaborated, "He's planning on surprising everyone at a crime scene, to stir things up."

"Surprising everyone how?"

"Didn't we say?" John asked with a cheeky glint in his eyes.

"We're engaged." Sherlock added with a completely serious expression.

Lestrade blinked. "Seriously? Or are you guys just having me on?"

"Seriously." John nodded, and after sharing a glance with Sherlock, the army doctor pulled his dog tags out from under his shirt, and showed Lestrade the ring hanging from the chain.

"So, what you're going to bet on is this." Sherlock started.

xxxx

Half an hour later, the pair were about to leave, having finished explaining to Lestrade their plan. Well, when Sherlock finished ordering the Inspector about.

"Guys," Lestrade stopped them from leaving. "I should say congratulations." he pointed out.

"Pfft." Sherlock waved a hand dismissively. The man opened the door and ran out and to the elevator.

"Thanks Greg." John grinned at the man, who smiled back. Lestrade watched as John hurried after Sherlock, who had entered the elevator and was pushing the down button. Lestrade grinned as Sherlock stuck a hand out, to stop the elevator doors from closing while John caught up.

They would be an interesting couple.

xxxx

If everyone else was surprised by Lestrade's sudden interest in betting, they didn't say anything. Lestrade made his bets, claiming they'd been together for ages already and would be married before the end of the next month. Everyone laughed, didn't believe it but accepted it and George collected his money (the guy in charge of the bets).

Three weeks after Lestrade had been told the truth, he received a letter, an invitation. All it said was to turn up for dinner at a restaurant. It wasn't signed, but he knew who sent it. Sally and Molly had an invitation too.

They dressed casually, and turned up a week later. The place was empty but for them, the owner greeted them at the door enthusiastically, going on about friends of _his_ were friends of Angelo's (the man was Angelo). John, Sherlock, Mrs Hudson and Mycroft were already seated, Sherlock glaring hatefully at his brother.

They had dinner. Sally was civil towards Sherlock, polite to John and friendly to Molly. They all ignored the empty spot next to John until a brown-haired woman walked in, kissed his check and sat down.

"Hello dear," she smiled, "Junior, Mr Holmes." She winked at Sherlock and his brother, and then winced as John hit her over the back of her head.

"You do understand that when I tell you something in secret, I'm expecting you to not tell anyone else. Especially who that secret pertains to." John growled.

"Oh please, if I hadn't stepped in, you two would still have your bloody heads stuck in the sand and not happily married." the woman rolled her eyes.

Everyone froze in surprise, except for four people. Sherlock, John, the brunette and Lestrade.

"Married?" Mycroft asked, staring at John in confusion.

"I told you so." John told Sherlock, who grumbled and handed over twenty pounds.

"What?" Sally asked.

"I bet twenty pounds that we could get married and Mycroft not find out." John grinned.

"Congratulations, boys! Oh, that's wonderful. Although, I am rather hurt I wasn't there at the ceremony, but I understand, we'll just have to hold a reception and ceremony and pretend it's the first time." Mrs Hudson squealed.

"Wait, you two got married? When the hell did that happen?" Sally demanded.

"Two weeks ago." John shrugged.

Molly stared in shock, but without a trace of hurt or pain, well, from what Lestrade could see so he assumed John had spoken to her about some of the truth.

"Yes, it was a lovely ceremony, I cried at their vows and their declarations of love." the brunette rolled her eyes.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" Sally asked, still confused.

"Irene Addler." Irene grinned.

Lestrade frowned as he recognised the name. "_The _Woman?"

"The one and only." Irene smirked.

"Oh god, please don't get her started." John groaned.

"How did you keep this from me, little brother?" Mycroft demanded.

"Easily." John responded for his husband, who was being stubborn and not talking.

"Congratulations." Molly spoke up, smiling fondly at the two.

Lestrade tried not to stare at the girl who had had a crush on Sherlock for years being friendly when she just found out he got married and congratulated the couple too.

Sally followed their lead, congratulating the pair before turning to Lestrade, "You bloody knew! You bet they would get married and you knew."

"No, I didn't know, I was informed of some details and made an educated guess from what I knew." Lestrade grinned.

"Sherlock," Mycroft started, sounding serious. Everyone turned to watch him, everyone being able to see the disapproval in his face.

"Mycroft, I don't care what you think, I'm happy with John." Sherlock interrupted.

"I don't doubt that, John is exactly what you need." Mycroft shook his head. "You shouldn't have hid your marriage though."

"Why not? I can do what I want, you're not my keeper." Sherlock pouted.

"Mummy's not going to be happy she missed out." Mycroft sighed.

Everyone at the table were shocked to see Sherlock's face drain of colour, a look of pure terror cross his face and then he slumped, his face showing a resigned look.

"Ah, I forgot about that." Sherlock muttered.

John stared between the two brothers, slightly scared.

"Both her and Lillian, they'll be rather, what's the word?" Mycroft shoulders slumped slightly too.

"Pissed off." Sherlock filled in.

"Sherlock Antony Holmes."

Both Holmes boys flinched.

Everyone turned to see a young teenager standing in the doorway, hands propped on her hips and an angry scowl on her face. Her curly dark hair was exactly like Sherlock's only longer and her nose held the same curve as the Holmes brothers. Her eyes were a shocking emerald green though, not the grey-blue both Sherlock and Mycroft have.

"Lillian." Mycroft greeted.

"Hey Myc," the girl, Lillian grinned at the older Holmes before returning to glare at Sherlock. "Sher, how could you do this to me? You both promised I could be a part of your weddings, and let's face it, Myc isn't getting married anytime soon and then you go and sign some certificate without a ceremony, not in a church, no reception, no party without telling me or Mother. She is ranting and raving by the way, and Father is keeping her at home but expect a phone call demanding your visit and then you better put up with her planning, because she is going to make you go through the whole ceremony and reception whether you want to or not."

The group stared as Sherlock mumbled an apology, looking cowered.

"Can you teach me how to do that?" John asked, staring at his partner in amazement as he behaved himself.

Lillian glanced at John and glared at Sherlock one more time before turning to John and smiling warmly. "Hi, you must be John, I'm Lillian Holmes, Sherlock's little sister."

"Little sister?" Mrs Hudson asked, "Sherlock, you never said you had more siblings."

"Half-sister." Sherlock corrected.

Lillian grinned at the old woman warmly and then turned to Sherlock. "Now that I got that out of my system," she started, then she threw herself at Sherlock, hugging him and squealing, "Oh my god! Congratulations! I always told Father you would be happy and find someone. He never did believe someone so abnormal would ever find someone, and you know him, only people married are complete." Lillian rolled her eyes but pulled away, "Tell me you at least took pictures or something, please Sher, I need something. Details, pictures, repeat of vows, you know, what?"

"I'm sure John's sister took pictures, she had a camera with her." Sherlock shrugged.

"John's sister got to know and go but I didn't?" She wailed.

Sherlock winced.

"Forgive us, Lillian," John started.

"Lily, only my dad calls me Lillian. And my mum when she's angry." Lily interrupted.

"Sorry, Lily, but honestly, the only reason my sister and Reny were there was because we needed two witnesses. We wanted it to be private." John explained.

"Well, I'm cool with that, but just be aware; mother is already planning your ceremony. And she isn't going to accept no as an answer. Oh, and she wants you two to visit for a week next week, so the family can meet John." Lily shrugged.

"Fine." Sherlock muttered.

"Would you like to join us?" John offered.

"No, I've got to head home; mother is waiting for me to report back. I'll see you on Sunday around lunch. Bye Sher, Myc. John, it was good to meet you."

"Likewise." John watched as the girl left.

"Well that was interesting." Lestrade spoke, trying to break the awkward tension that had appeared.

xxxx

"Relax John." Sherlock murmured, as they got out of the car Mycroft had supplied and grabbed their luggage.

"I'm meeting your family; I'm not going to relax." John muttered back.

"You'll see them this once and that'll be it. Don't worry about them." Sherlock informed him, walking up to the doors. John followed him up, staring in awe at the huge, old fashioned house. It was huge, not quite big enough to be called a mansion or anything, but there were three levels, and the whole house stretched outwards. The foundations and building were well maintained, polished and repaired, so while it may have been several decades old, it only looked a few years.

"Your house is huge." John whispered, as Sherlock rang the bell.

"It's boring." Sherlock whispered back, as the door opened.

"Mister Holmes." The man greeted.

"Carlos, how are you?" Sherlock grinned at the sight of the man.

"I am well, Mister Holmes, let me take your luggage for you. I heard the good news, congratulations. And I applaud you for not telling the Mistress." The man grabbed the bags off of John, and placed them to the side, before taking the bags off Sherlock.

"Applaud him? Should you really be encouraging him?" Lily asked, appearing at the top of the stairs and walking down them to greet her brother.

Carlos grinned at Lily then moved away, lifting the luggage and taking them upstairs.

"Carlos, we'll be sharing my room." Sherlock told the man.

Carlos lifted an eyebrow, "The Mistress had a guest room made up for Dr Watson."

"I don't care."

"Very well." Carlos disappeared upstairs with the bags.

"You just want to push Mother's buttons, don't you?" Lily sighed, before hugging her brother and kissing his cheek.

Sherlock shrugged, as John gripped his hand and offered Lily his other, "Lily, it's good to see you again." He smiled at her.

"John." Lily hugged the man, knocking his hand out of the way. "Come on, Mother and Father are in the study. Mycroft will be around later tonight, around dinner, and Aunt Francis and her family are arriving tomorrow."

"Uncle Carl and Aunt Georgina?" Sherlock asked.

"Uncle Carl is coming in three days; Aunt Georgina is coming on Saturday for one night with her family." Lily told him.

"Sherlock, perhaps you should've told me who everyone is?" John whispered, as Lily lead them through the house to the study.

"I'll tell you tonight, don't worry, it's pointless information, you can delete it after this week." Sherlock murmured back.

John entered the room after him, and smiled politely as the two occupants of the room turned around to study them. Well, John.

"Sherlock, my dear." His mother, a tall, imposing woman with pitch black hair and vibrant blue eyes, stood and moved to her youngest son. Sherlock willingly embraced her, kissing her cheeks.

"Mother."

"And this must be Dr John Watson. Abigail Holmes, pleasure to meet you." Abigail offered him her hand.

"The pleasure is mine, Mrs Holmes." John grinned, gripping her hand and shaking it.

"This is my husband, Peter Holmes."

XXX

It was late at night, John had been in bed and asleep for a while, when Sherlock crawled into bed. John only woke up enough to scoot over as Sherlock climbed in and then the doctor wrapped himself around his husband, murmuring in his sleep.

Sherlock stroked the man's back, and turned to give his mother a pointed look, "I would really prefer if you didn't try to watch us sleep, Mother, we do deserve our privacy." Sherlock whispered, careful not to wake John. She had stopped in the doorway to watch her son and husband.

"He's lovely dear; I don't know why you kept him from us." She whispered, before leaving for her room.

XXX

Saturday night was a hectic but organised mess. Sherlock showed John off, especially to the Holmes' cousins who were around the same age and single. John charmed the pants off of everyone, all the aunts, uncles, nephews, nieces, cousins, godparents and siblings that turned up.

John was soon drawn into a discussion with Abigail Holmes about their wedding ceremony and the plans, and no matter what John said, however Abigail wanted to plan it was how it was going to be.

XXX

Abigail didn't see the point in wasting time, waiting for the ceremony, and had a place booked and organised within the week. The Holmes' family were invited, as were the Watsons, but only Harry had responded with a positive response. Greg, Molly and Mrs Hudson were also invited, and a few of John's army friends but that was it.

"Nervous?" Sherlock asked John, watching him through the mirror as they tied their bowties.

"Nah, we're already married, this is just so everyone out there can watch us do it again and be jealous." John grinned. He slipped his white jacket on and turned to watch as Sherlock pulled his black jacket on. John was wearing a white suit, with a black top and white tie, while Sherlock wore the reverse, a black suit and tie with a white top.

Sherlock straightened John's tie, just as Irene opened the door and peered inside. "Come on boys, music's just about to start.

The pair grinned at each other and linked arms, walking out the room. Fifteen minutes later saw the pair walking down the aisle together, grinning at each other cheekily and ignoring the entire room full or spectators. They announced their vows, slipped a second ring on each other and then kissed, as their friends and family cheered. They pulled apart a few moments later, and John smiled up at Sherlock, "You realise we have Reny to thank for us getting together?"

"Irrelevant." Sherlock shrugged.

"Well we really should thank her."

"Pointless."

"Sherlock." John warned.

There was a beat of silence.

"I love you."

"I love you too, but don't think you're going to get out of it that easily."

**The End.**

**There we go, a happy ending to a long story. Well, long in my opinion, maybe not long when compared to lots of other stories posted on fanfiction.**

**Please, review and let me know what you thought. I hope you enjoyed it.**


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